


As The Sun Sets

by yourbucky221B



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Attraction, Dancing, M/M, Romance, Supposed to be romantic, for Anna's dancing prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourbucky221B/pseuds/yourbucky221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For ughbenedict's prompt about Sherlock and John dancing. Now my Christmas present to her.</p>
<p>John supposed not much could shock him now about Sherlock Holmes. However, one discovery may just lead to John spending an evening in the arms of Sherlock Holmes. Dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As The Sun Sets

**Author's Note:**

> This should have been done months ago but school hit me and the workload overtook me. So this is kind of my Christmas present to Anna, for being an awesome blogger, and a great friend. Merry Christmas sweetie!
> 
> Prompt: John finds out Sherlock is a great dancer. One day he just comes to Sherlock’s bedroom and Sherlock dances with him. Sherlock’s hands all over John’s body. Their bodies close to each other. Bonded in a new, different, stronger way. They dance and John feels it. I want it subtle, romantic even. I want this dance scene to be like an evening in a dim-lighted restaurant somewhere in the suburbs in Paris. I want them to be like the sun and the moon and then I want them to collide. I want something aesthetic. And fragile. And poetic. Like an early spring rain that leaves your heart empty and your hair just slightly damp. I want to feel the moment. 
> 
> I tried my best to make this poetic, subtle, romantic etc. like Anna described. I hope you like it!

 

    John remembered when he’d first found out Sherlock could dance. And not just that he could move to the rhythm of a song but in that he was a brilliant dancer. He could meld his body to the song and captivate you in the way he moved his feet and how he seemed to lose himself in the music. The technique in how he held himself and the admiration you held for someone with the ability to train their body so well.  John remembers that day. That soft sweep of music coming from Sherlock’s room, something John hadn’t heard before; John had heard music played in the flat before or in Sherlock’s room but it had always been Sherlock just playing his violin. This was something completely different. It was soft with a quiet beat but also had something almost energetic behind it. So John, curious as to what was going on, had almost tiptoed to Sherlock’s room to find him in the middle of it, stepping and swaying to the music, his arms held out for an invisible partner. John couldn’t take his eyes off of Sherlock; he’d never seen him completely relaxed or lost in something. He seemed so at ease, so peaceful that John hadn’t realised he’d almost pushed the door all the way open.

   John had brought it up the next day and Sherlock had merely shrugged it off, pushing the blame towards his mother forcing both himself and Mycroft to attend dance lessons when they were younger. He never did explain why he’d been dancing that night though. John doubted he ever would explain so when John came home one evening to find that same sort of beat resonating throughout the flat, he didn’t hesitate in going to Sherlock’s room, but this time, he didn’t hide behind the door.

   The door creaked open as John stepped in, and Sherlock, who had been completely lost in the slow tempo and the soothing lull of the musician’s voice, stopped moving on the spot, almost frozen. His eyes flashed open and John felt guilty for interrupting the Detective.

   The room was glowing from the setting sun. Everything coloured a hazy orange and dull yellow, reminding John of all those evenings in the desert, the setting sun casting the sand in sombre glow. Sherlock’s hair didn’t look black anymore, the sun seemed to lift the chestnut right from his roots, his skin also held the glow of the sun, his pale exterior now a warm butter.

   “You never did explain to my why you were dancing in your room that night?” John said gently, leaning up against the door frame, his hands hanging by his side. Maybe he’d get an answer now, John thought as he watched Sherlock. Or maybe he’ll kick you out of his room, he corrected himself. It seemed more likely.

   Sherlock, however didn’t acknowledge John’s question and simply held out a hand, his blue eyes glinting in the soft light, turning them slightly green and yellow on the edges, and said softly, “Dance with me?”

   John stood there, shocked, his eyes darting over Sherlock calm face, trying to make out any sort of underlying emotion on his face which would tell John anything about Sherlock’s sudden request. Sherlock’s eyes held no sort of indication towards an ulterior motive behind him asking John to dance with him. Sherlock’s lips, those lips, with that cupids bow that John had admired, that was usually twisted into a grim line or an excited smile, simply held the gentlest smile John thought he had ever been fortunate to see on his face.

   “Are you being serious?” John asked, his brow raised towards his forehead, his eyes wide, disbelieving of Sherlock’s question.

   “Of course I am.” Sherlock replied almost instantly, his smile never faltering, “Will you?”

   John hesitated in the door way, his body leaning forward but his feet, well; they didn’t seem to want to move at all. They seemed to have found that part of John’s brain which was cringing at the idea of having to dance with Sherlock. He wasn’t a good dancer. He never learnt and he never had the urge to. Sherlock would look down on him if he tried to match him and failed. He’d correct and snap at him.

   The smile on Sherlock’s face was unnerving, “I’m a terrible dancer.” John said, almost pleading with Sherlock, “You’ll just get frustrated with me.”

   Sherlock’s smile grew warmer if that was possible, his whole demeanour softening. Those sharp angles and hard feature smoothed by the glow which radiated throughout the room. Despite his usual attire, John thought he was looking at a completely different man.

   John noted that Sherlock’s hand was still held out, palm up, almost to reassure John of no imminent threat. John’s eyes swept over Sherlock’s before he bit his lip and stepped into the room, his considerably smaller hand, landed gracelessly into Sherlock’s.

   Then John was swaying side to side, Sherlock’s hand on his waist while his own rested on the detective’s shoulder. His other hand still placed gently within the confines of Sherlock’s much bigger one. John wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this all seemed and he cracked a smile at the thought of Lestrade finding out that Sherlock was a dancer.

   “What’s so funny?” Sherlock’s deep baritone sent a shiver down John’s spine. It was such a change in the room from the light, slow music which was being played. A dull roar in amidst a light tune.

   John shook his head, not meeting Sherlock’s gaze, “Just the thought of Lestrade’s face if he knew you could dance.”

   The doctor cracked another smile which quirked the lips of Sherlock’s as well, “Well, I suppose it isn’t something anybody thought I’d be good at.”

   John scoffed, “What aren’t you good at?” He shared another smile with the detective but Sherlock’s was a little dimmer.

   “A lot of things.” He confessed, “Everybody has their weaknesses, John.”

   “You have weaknesses?” A sceptical smile graced his lips.

   “I did just say that everybody has weaknesses.”

   “I didn’t think you meant yourself.”

   “I’m not an exception.”

   John thought for a second, as their bodies swayed and the music lulled. Did Sherlock mean that he had weaknesses like John did? Emotional weaknesses?

   “Boredom is my most prominent weakness. That and my impatience with others when I am on a case.” Sherlock told him, causing the doctor’s heart to sink a little.

   Of course he would have weaknesses that would only be relevant to the genius he was. John wondered whether there wasn’t a part of him that held the same emotional weaknesses that John and others held. Like caring too much, or loving someone who doesn’t feel the same.

   Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, observing, deducing. John shied away from his gaze, ducking his head, not meeting the detective’s eyes. Sometimes he could be an open book, and right now, with his one hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and the other enclosed in the detective’s hand, hiding what he was thinking was essential.

   “You’re hiding from me,” Sherlock stated, amused, his lips quirking up, he lowered his voice significantly, “Why would you need to, John?”

   John felt a shiver run through his body, his knees feeling weak as the detective’s mouth moved closer to his ear. The doctor closed his eyes, and tried to steady himself, gain back control of his body. He could feel Sherlock’s breath on his neck, warm, oh so warm. John forced his eyes open and moved his head back from where it was almost resting on Sherlock’s shoulder.

   “You never hide from me.” Sherlock sounded a little cold, despite their intimate position and the slow dull pulse of the music, “Why now?”

   John didn’t know how to answer; he adjusted his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, his fingers close to the skin on his neck. He toyed with the collar of the shirt before letting his fingertips graze the detective’s skin. Sherlock jerked John forward at the touch; his hand untwining from John’s to rest on John’s waist, pulling the doctor flush with his body. John almost whimpered at the contact. He could feel every line of Sherlock’s body, his firm chest, and . . . John’s body straightened at the realisation.

   Sherlock’s mouth was right next to his ear then, “Do you want me to deduce it? Or are you going to tell me?”

   John shuddered in his arms, giving nothing away; he pressed himself to Sherlock then. God, he’d never imagined it would feel this good. He never thought he’d ever be pressed this close to Sherlock’s body, dancing, in Sherlock’s room. Never. This had never occurred to him. Why would it? They were friends. Best friends. They’d been through so much; he didn’t know what he’d do without Sherlock.

   He didn’t answer, and Sherlock didn’t press the question which was a surprise, instead they just continued to dance, their bodies pressed close together, swaying to the pulse of the music in the air, the setting sun still giving the room an auburn glow.

   “What does it feel like, John?” Sherlock murmured his voice completely open, void of intention, “What is this? This feeling? I don’t understand.”

   John completely understood how he was feeling. He felt the same. He felt like he was sinking, but it was a good feeling, he liked it. He was happy to drown as long as it never ended. Stuck in this perpetual state of limbo with Sherlock.

   John rested his chin on Sherlock’s shoulder, “What does it feel like?”

   “Drowning.” The detective answered, “I feel like I’m floating in this state, almost suffocating, but I don’t want to move, don’t want it to end. My chest hurts, but I don’t know what it is. I don’t like not knowing, John.”

   John tightened his grip on Sherlock, and the detective returned it, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

   Sherlock’s mouth was right next to his ear again, “Do you feel it too?”

   John shuddered a little, “What would you do if I said ‘yes’?”

   “You’d just have to wait and see.”

   “What makes you think I’d say ‘yes’?”

   Lips touched his earlobe, “Because you’re not going to say ‘no’.”

    _Damn him_ , John thought.

   “Come on, John.” He pressed, “Don’t test my patience.”

_Screw it_ , John thought.

   “Fine, yes. Happy now?” John gave in, his hands gripping Sherlock’s shirt.

   “Exceedingly,” Sherlock purred and the next thing John knew was the detective’s soft lips were pressed against his.

   John bit back a whimper as Sherlock’s plump lips slid across his, gently, no sort of urgency in the movement. His hands gripped the detective’s shoulders as he pulled himself up to lean into the kiss, Sherlock’s hands twisting in John’s jumper at his waist. Sherlock’s lips were persistent; passing over the doctor’s again and again, building the need which ran through both of them. John couldn’t get close enough; his hands ran up Sherlock’s neck and into his curls, pulling his face down so John could pour himself into the kiss. Sherlock moaned, deep in the back of his throat and pulled John even closer, his lips working incessantly against John’s.

   “Sherlock . . .” John whimpered, as Sherlock pushed his tongue into the doctor’s mouth.

   Moaning around John’s mouth Sherlock continued to kiss him, their tongues tangling together. It really was like he was drowning now. Being completely engulfed in the genius, nowhere to turn to, just Sherlock, there, always there. John groaned into Sherlock’s mouth, just as Sherlock pushed back, John’s feet stumbling to find their balance before he hit the edge of Sherlock’s bed. The doctor’s brain finally caught up with the event and he tried to pull himself gently away, mumbling against Sherlock’s mouth as he did.

   “God, Sherlock . . . mmph . . . stop . . . god, we need . . . we need to stop.” He moved his hands to Sherlock’s chest, pushing gently against his toned chest.

   The detective moved back only slightly, only to then attach his lips to John’s neck, “Mmm . . . why?”

   “Don’t we need to talk about this . . . oh god.” John moaned as Sherlock’s teeth nibbled gently at his skin.

   “Do we need to talk about this?” Sherlock questioned his lips moving up to the doctor’s ear again.

   “Yes.”

   “I don’t think we do.”

   “Sherlock. . .”

   Sherlock pulled away with a snap and his eyes roamed over John’s face, “Fine. What?”

   John gulped and tried to look past the piercing eyes, “What is this?”

   “Oh god, you need definitions don’t you?”

   “No. N-no, of course not. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.” John stuttered through his words as Sherlock scrutinised him.

   Sherlock’s gaze softened a little and he moved closer, his hands gripping John again, “This is you and me, doing something which I think we’ve both been thinking about for a very long time.”

   The doctor was a little bit taken aback by that admission but he didn’t voice it. Instead he nodded and pulled Sherlock down to seal their lips together again. The music playing softly in the background as they swayed softly in the darkening orange of the setting sun.


End file.
